


Fragile

by Emospritelet



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Stargate Universe
Genre: Angst, F/M, Grief/Mourning, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Past Character Death, Smut, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 20:34:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20121268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emospritelet/pseuds/Emospritelet
Summary: Since losing his wife, Rush has been trying to ignore his grief. A change of scene seemed a good way to cope, and having moved to Boston, he finds himself in a bar where he meets Belle, who has her own tale of loss. Surely finding one night of comfort in a kind stranger wouldn't hurt?Please check the tags before you read - Belle is 17, although Rush doesn't know that when he takes her home.





	Fragile

**Author's Note:**

> I realise this won't be everyone's cup of tea given the description, and it's not the sort of thing I usually write (Penance notwithstanding) but it kind of wandered into my head fully-formed during a bout of insomnia and refused to leave. So - here

Rush raised his hand to the bartender for another whisky and slumped forward again with a sigh, raking his hair back from his face and picking up his glass to drain the last of his drink. He was seated at the bar, shoulders hunched and with his arms folded in front of him. The elbow of his white shirt had already picked up a brownish stain from someone’s spilled drink, and he wished he hadn’t taken off his jacket. 

Sunday evenings were relatively quiet in this Boston bar, it seemed, but it wasn’t as though he was there to be sociable. It just happened to be the nearest one to his new apartment, and after sitting on his couch staring at the unfamiliar walls for what felt like hours, he had decided he couldn’t take it any longer, and had gone out in search of a drink.

He had moved into the apartment the day before, having transferred to Boston from California. A sabbatical, he had told the university, knowing deep down that it was more than that. His old house had seemed too empty, too alien over the past year of living alone. For the first time in his life he had felt lonely, and so he had decided on a change of scene. Finding some work to keep him relatively busy for a year had been the easy part, a simple matter of doing a favour for a desperate friend, and he was due to start his new position the next day. He had left his old faculty with the trickier job of finding a replacement astrophysics professor, then packed his stuff into a U-Haul and driven coast to coast, trying to get as far away from painful memories as he could. It hadn’t worked thus far. The fuckers had a knack of tracking him down wherever he crawled off to.

The apartment was nice enough, light and airy, if a little more cramped than he was used to. At some point he would explore the local area, but for tonight he just wanted to sit at the bar and get as drunk as he could. Possibly not all that wise given that he started his new job the next morning, but once he had gone through orientation he was confident he would be able to find his way around. It wasn’t as though the curriculum was anything other than basic maths and physics, after all. He was hoping the banality of it would give his mind time to focus on other things. Time to heal.

He ran a hand over his chin, feeling salt and pepper stubble that was just getting long enough to soften. He’d need to shave at some point, but it wasn’t as though he needed to look his best to drink cheap whisky and wonder where the hell his life was going. The bartender set another glass in front of him, and Rush nodded his thanks, pushing the empty away.

“Can I get a vodka tonic?”

A young woman’s voice made him glance around, and he watched as a petite brunette slid onto the stool next to him. Chestnut hair was piled on top of her head, a few loose curls snaking free. She wore a tight-fitting blue dress and black high heels with ankle straps, her slim legs bare. A short coat was laid across the bar next to her.

“I.D.?” said the barman.

She rummaged in her purse, taking out a card and holding it up to him, and the barman grunted and went to pour her drink. Rush turned back to his whisky. It wasn’t the best, a little harsh on his tongue, but it did the job. He was feeling pleasantly light-headed, and took another sip before he could start to sober up.

“Drinking alone?”

The woman’s voice made him glance around again. She was very pretty, large blue eyes ringed with dark lashes, soft pink lips and a pale oval of a face. Young, no more than early twenties going by her satisfactory I.D., he thought, although he was never much good at guessing women’s ages. She sounded Australian, and he wondered what had brought her to Boston. Whether she lived in the area, or was a stranger, like him.

“I’m not very sociable,” he said, and she smiled slightly.

“Good. Then you won’t expect me to make small talk.”

“As long as you don’t expect _ me _to.”

“Believe me,” she said, in a dry tone. “I know the value of silence.”

The barman returned with her drink, tonic fizzing around four cubes of ice and a wedge of lemon. The woman smiled her thanks, reaching for it.

“I’ll get it,” said Rush.

He wondered why he had said that, and from the slight crease in the young woman’s brow it appeared she wondered the same.

“This way I’m not drinking alone,” he added.

“I thought you said no small talk.”

“I didn’t say you had to entertain me.”

She smiled slightly at that, raising her glass.

“Well in that case, thank you Mr—?”

“Rush,” he said, not bothering to correct her on the title. "Nicholas."

“Oh.” She held out a hand. “I’m Belle.”

He shook it, her hand small and soft in his, and Belle smiled again as she sat back, stirring her drink with a straw.

“I don’t usually come here on Sundays,” she said. “You?”

“First time,” he admitted. “I’m not from around here. And not usually one for bars, to be honest.”

“So what’s so special about tonight?” she asked, and he grimaced.

“Anniversary.”

“Of what?”

Rush sighed, unsure if he even wanted to be having this conversation.

“I - I lost my wife,” he said eventually. “Year ago today. Cancer.”

“Oh.” Her mouth flattened, compassion in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah.”

He took a swig of his whisky, wondering why the hell he had mentioned it. She had seemed to shrink in on herself a little, and he waited for her to make her excuses and leave the miserable shit twice her age to his whisky and his moping. Belle glanced up at him, her face sober.

“I lost my mother around this time of year,” she said. “Three years ago now, but it still hurts.”

Rush turned towards her a little.

“What was it?” he asked.

“Car accident.” She took a sip of her drink. “Is that worse or better than being able to prepare for it? I don’t know. I don’t know if seeing it coming would help. I don’t think you’re ever truly prepared to lose someone you love, you know?”

“Oh, I know,” he said quietly.

There was silence for a while. He took small sips of his whisky, turning the glass between his fingertips and watching the light ripple across its amber surface. Belle poked at her drink with the straw, a far-off look in her eyes as she stared ahead. The music had changed, something slow and electronic and somehow melancholy. It wasn’t helping his mood, and he sneaked a glance at Belle. Her eyes met his momentarily before looking away.

“Well, you’re certainly not a local, with that accent,” she said, as though attempting to be cheerful for his sake. “What brings you to Boston?”

“Running away from my problems, I suppose,” he said, in a dry tone. “I’ve been living in California for the past fifteen years or so.”

“And you thought you’d get as far from there as you could?” she asked, a look of understanding in her eyes. “I get that.”

“Coming from Australia, as you evidently do, I guess we're both like fish out of water here.”

Belle smiled again.

“I haven’t lived there in over ten years,” she said. “Dad wanted to move to the US, and Mum supported that choice. Land of opportunity, right?”

“So they say.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

More silence. She was slowly working her way down the glass, and he felt the urge to offer her another, to keep her there with him. There was a comfort in talking to her, a feeling he had not expected. He avoided strangers as a rule, and social interaction was never high on his list of priorities even among those he counted as friends. Perhaps it was their shared experience of grief, his still raw and biting, hers an older wound but no less painful.

There was something about her, too. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but which was drawing him to her, his world made brighter by her presence. For so long now he had tried to wall everything off, to bury himself in work, pushing himself with the aid of caffeine until pure exhaustion made his mind shut down. It hadn’t helped, and he felt weak and fragile, fearing that too much pressure in the wrong place would make him shatter like glass. Belle exuded a sense of peace, of calm serenity, as though she had seen the fucking shit life could throw at her, but had chosen to rise above it. He wondered if he would feel the same, given time. Somehow he doubted it.

“Can I get you another drink?” he asked, and she glanced at him.

“Are you having one?”

“Oh, God yes.”

His vehemence made her smile, and she nodded, so he signalled the barman to pour another two. Belle sucked up the last of her drink, pushing the glass away and turning slightly on her stool to face him.

“Was your wife Scottish?” she asked. “American?”

“English, actually,” he said.

“You must miss her.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, a sudden stinging in them, and heard Belle click her tongue. His eyes flicked open, and she was watching him, chewing her lip anxiously.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m being insensitive. I told you I was happy to sit in silence and I haven’t stopped talking since I sat down. Do you want to talk about something else? Or - or nothing at all?”

“It’s fine,” he said. “I think your company is probably better than my own.”

She smiled, glancing away again, and there was more silence. The barman set two more glasses down in front of them, eyeing Rush a little suspiciously, as though checking for drunkenness. Admittedly it was his fourth whisky, but it wasn’t as though they were large measures, so Rush stared at him evenly until he wandered off again. He picked up the whisky, taking a larger sip than he had intended and coughing a little. Belle was staring into her drink, chewing at her lip as though she was thinking hard. He wondered if her mind dwelt on the past, on all the things she should have said and done, and now never could. As his did.

“I didn’t deal with it all that well,” he said, feeling a strong urge to break the heavy silence. “Her illness, I mean. Kind of threw myself into my work, tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. It was selfish. Cowardly. She was far braver than me.”

Belle looked up again, a sad smile brightening her eyes a little.

“I can understand that, though,” she said. “You’d need something to focus on, something you can achieve, something you can change. I imagine there’s - there’s this awful inevitability about the whole thing. I imagine you’d feel helpless.”

“Yeah.” He took another slurp of his whisky, heat burning his mouth. “That’s it exactly.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that.”

He let out a low chuckle.

“Oh, I think you’ll find I can.”

“Well, you shouldn’t,” she said firmly. “People deal with grief in different ways. When Mum died, I don’t think I slept in three days. I cleaned the entire house from top to bottom, sorted out all the funeral arrangements, dealt with the bills and the insurance and all that. Anything to avoid thinking about what had happened. It’s not cowardice, it’s - it’s _ coping_.”

He wasn’t sure he agreed with that, but the fact that she had said it at all lifted a little of the weight from around his heart. Belle put her head to the side, looking him over.

“Do you have family?” she asked. “Kids, or—”

“No family,” he confirmed, his voice a little hoarse. “No kids. There was no time in the early days, and then—” He shook his head. “There was no time,” he finished, in a whisper.

“So you’re alone?” asked Belle, and he shrugged.

“So it seems.”

She sucked vodka tonic through the straw, ice cubes clinking in the glass.

“I don’t have family either, except for my Dad,” she said. “He hasn’t been coping all that well since Mum died. Drinks a lot, and - well, he’s unpleasant when he’s had a few. We’ve kind of drifted apart and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“It’s not just on you, is it?” he said, and she pulled a face.

“Yeah, I know,” she said quietly. “But it’s me who’ll need to reach out and do all the work, and I can’t seem to summon the energy. Like I said, people deal with grief in different ways. His way is - frustrating.”

“Maybe he’ll be the one to reach out,” he suggested, and she wrinkled her nose, as if she doubted it.

“Maybe,” she said. “If he finally gets some help and cuts back on the booze, anyway. But there again maybe I need to help him more. I don’t like us being distant like this. It’s not what Mum would have wanted, and that makes me feel guilty. It seems like all I do is feel guilty these days. Maybe I’m not making too much sense...”

Rush barked a short, humourless laugh, reaching for his whisky.

“Oh believe me, you’re making perfect sense.”

“It’s like - you tell yourself you have to keep going,” she went on. “You try to get on with your life because you know that’s what they’d want, and then when you do, when you forget about them for five minutes, you feel guilty.”

“Yeah,” he whispered.

“And - and you don’t cry,” she said, one finger jabbing the bar. “When they go, you don’t cry. It’s like - it’s like you’re numb, and you’ll never feel anything again, and you think you’re okay, that you’re dealing. But all the time the pain’s there inside you like - like a river pushing against a dam and building up the pressure. And then something happens and the dam breaks and so do you.”

Rush smiled a little, fingers tapping against his whisky glass.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I think that was it. My dam broke.”

The touch of her hand made him start. She had reached out, covering his hand with hers, and he stared at her, wide-eyed. Her palm was warm, her fingers gently pushing between his. How long was it since he had been touched? A year? Had it really been that long? He swallowed hard, and Belle’s mouth quirked in a faint, sad smile.

“I can’t promise it’ll get better,” she said. “Not right away. But in time. In time it’ll be - less numb. I can tell you that it’s good to feel things. Even the bad things, occasionally, if it helps you get to the good. You should - you should feel things.”

To Rush’s great surprise, he found himself wondering how _ she _felt, whether her skin was as soft as it looked. Whether her hair would run through his fingers like silk. Images came to his mind, unbidden, and he tried to push them away, the distraction too much to bear, fuel for the low-down fire of almost-forgotten need. His throat was suddenly dry, his heart thumping, and she squeezed his hand a little as she leaned forward, blue eyes fixed on his.

“You live around here?” she asked. “A hotel, or…”

Rush jerked his head towards the door.

“Apartment just around the corner.”

“Want to take me there?”

Rush blinked, unsure if he had misheard.

“What?”

“Your place,” she said. “Can we go there?”

He stared at her, wishing he hadn’t suddenly lost the ability to form sentences.

“Why?”

Belle smiled.

“You know why,” she said softly. “Because I think you’re lonely. And - and _ I’m _lonely, and I thought - I thought maybe we could both be a little less lonely. Just for one night.”

Her hand tightened on his, warmth flowing into him, smothering the bright shard of guilt that stabbed at his heart, soothing him. She was right. He was lonely. Gloria had never wanted him to be lonely. She had wanted him to move on, to find what happiness he could after she was gone. It was unlikely a brief hook-up could provide much in the way of inner peace, but perhaps he could forget his own misery for a time. God, it had been so long since he had felt a gentle touch. Belle was still gazing at him, her eyes wide and clear and beautiful, and he licked his lips.

“Alright,” he heard himself say.

They left the bar together, Belle shivering in the cold wind before she got her coat around herself, and she took his hand, fingers threading between his as he led her around the corner to his apartment building. They climbed the stairs in a silence that neither seemed willing to break, the atmosphere between them growing heavy and potent. Rush struggled to open the apartment door, fingers shaking as he put the key in the lock, but eventually he pushed it open, the hinges squeaking a little. Belle stepped past him, shrugging out of her coat, and he closed and locked the door behind them before leading her through to the lounge.

“Uh - haven’t unpacked everything yet,” he said, gesturing to the piles of boxes stacked by the couch and chair. “Can I get you a drink?”

She shook her head, tossing her coat over the arm of the couch.

“Bedroom?” she asked, and he swallowed.

“I - I don’t have anything,” he said. “Condoms, anything like that. I wasn’t expecting - I _ definitely _wasn’t expecting this.”

“Well, I take birth control,” she said. “Is that okay?”

He nodded, his tongue feeling as though it had swollen to twice its usual size, cleaving to the roof of his dry mouth. Belle shook back her hair, tilting her head.

“Bedroom?” she repeated, and Rush peeled his tongue free.

“First on the right.”

Belle wandered off, and after a moment’s hesitation he took his jacket off and followed her. His body felt strangely heavy, as though he wasn’t entirely awake, but when he entered the bedroom she had turned on the lamp on his nightstand and was taking off her shoes. She nodded to his, and Rush sat down on the bed, plucking at laces and tugging at boots. His fingers felt thick and clumsy, and his breath was coming hard. Eventually he got the boots off, and his socks. She was standing nearby, watching him silently, and he stood up, feeling unsure of himself. After a moment’s reflection, he realised it was better that they were in this new apartment, where he too felt like a stranger. Where they were both out of place.

Belle had taken the pins from her hair, and dark curls had been shaken out to bounce around her shoulders, shining in the warm light from the lamp. Her skin was smooth, her lips full and parted, and she reached up to lay her hand against his cheek, her touch a little hesitant. It made him wish he had shaved, but he put his own hand over hers, pressing it down, and she stepped closer, her other hand sliding over his waist. She was so much smaller with her shoes off, tiny and delicate and perfect, and he felt an unexpected urge to wrap his arms around her and keep her safe.

Rush stroked his fingers through her hair, bending his head as she stretched up on her toes, her lips brushing against his. It sent a jolt of sensation through him, a sudden surge of desire, and he kissed her, feeling the softness of her lips, gently pushing them apart. Belle let out a tiny moan, the tip of her tongue touching him, and it seemed to light a fire deep within him, burning through his body. His hands tightened, and his tongue pushed in between her lips, a deep groan coming from him as he tasted her.

She pressed herself against him, hands sliding down over his chest to pluck at the buttons of his shirt, and Rush deepened the kiss, eyes closed, lost in the taste of her and the softness of her mouth. His fingers trailed over her shoulders, brushing against the zipper of her dress, and Belle pulled her mouth from his, breathing hard.

“Unzip me,” she whispered.

He could feel his fingers trembling, but he found the zipper, drawing it down her back, and Belle stepped back a little, shrugging out of the sleeves and tugging the dress down until it fell at her feet. Her underwear was plain black, the cups of her bra pushing her breasts up, and she reached behind to unhook the bra and toss it aside. Her breasts fitted perfectly in his hands, the nipples hardened and pushing into his palms, and he bent to kiss her again. She had got his shirt open, and he shivered as she slid her palms up his naked chest, thumbs stroking over his nipples. 

He let his arms fall to his sides as she pushed the shirt from his shoulders, dragging it from him and tossing it aside to join her dress. Pulling her against him, skin on skin, felt incredible, and the kiss grew messy, his tongue stroking against hers, her hands sliding up his back and tugging him close. He was already hard, his cock pressing urgently against his jeans, and he squeezed her breasts, pulling his mouth from hers and kissing down her neck. Belle reached for his belt, tugging it open with a clink of the buckle and plucking at the button of his fly. He pulled back, pushing his jeans down and stepping out of them as they moved towards the bed. 

Belle climbed on before him, lying back against the pillows with her dark curls spread out around her, her chest heaving. She was beautiful, long limbs smooth and pale, nothing but tiny black panties covering her sex, and he tried not to think about how he must look, with his thin chest and his ribs showing and his cock tenting the front of his boxers. She reached out to him, taking his hand and pulling him to her, and he kissed her, all thoughts of his appearance drifting away as his fingers plunged into her fragrant hair.

Her mouth was hot and wet, her fingers running over his shoulders and making him shudder with pleasure, and he kissed along her jaw and down her neck, breathing in the scent of some flowery perfume that she wore. He moved lower, mouth trailing over her skin, kissing down over her chest until he could take a nipple in between his lips. Belle moaned, arching upwards as he sucked at her, and he let his tongue swirl over the taut bud of her nipple. His hands cupped her, and he kissed across to the other nipple, sucking hard, leaving it dark pink and glistening.

Shifting down the bed, he kissed over the flat of her belly, tongue scraping along the waistband of her underwear. He could smell the scent of her arousal, a sweet musky perfume that made him want to plunge inside her. The tips of his fingers hooked underneath the lace edge, kneeling up and gently drawing her panties down over her hips and thighs and off at her feet. She had drawn up her knees, and he put his hands on them, pushing them apart as he got between her legs. A neat triangle of dark hair had been trimmed short, the wet pink petals of her sex visible, and he began kissing his way up her thighs, her skin as smooth as silk and scented with vanilla.

Belle was breathing hard, her fingers combing through his hair as he reached the apex of her thighs, and he took a moment to inhale the scent of her, his palms gently pushing her thighs a little wider apart. The first touch of his tongue made her rise up off the bed with a cry and fall back, and he groaned as he tasted her, as the flavour of her spread across his tongue. His hands slid under her rear, lifting her closer to his mouth, and he began to lick, his tongue swirling over wet flesh.

She opened her legs wider, slipping her feet over his shoulders, and he let out a shuddering groan, tongue flickering over her, devouring her. His cock was a rigid line pressing into the bed, and he rocked his hips, trying to get some relief. Belle’s breath was coming hard, the sound of it ragged and desperate, and her fingers twisted in his hair, her thighs gripping the sides of his head. He could sense she was close, and he kept up the rhythm, tongue circling and swirling. She moaned, a high, keening sound, and came with a loud cry and a thrust of her hips, her body jerking. Hot fluid bathed his tongue, and Rush growled, swallowing her pleasure, licking the cum from her.

Her movements slowed, her cries becoming contented murmurs, and he kissed her inner thighs, letting her calm. His face and hair were sticky with her fluids, the scent of her all over him, but she tasted incredible, and he wanted more. She was stroking his hair with gentle fingers, and he waited until her breathing steadied before bending his head to her again, this time sliding a finger in between them and stroking along the wet folds of delicate flesh.

“Oh God!” she whispered, and her fingers tightened in his hair again.

He let the tip of one finger circle the swollen bud of her clit, sliding lower to tease her entrance as he began to lick her again. The finger slipped inside, her flesh hot and wet, and Belle moaned as he pushed deep. He settled into a rhythm again, slow, circular sweeps of his tongue and the thrust of his finger inside her. Her breathing quickened, her muscles growing taut as he worked her to climax. She came quickly, moaning and shaking, and he drew out a finger dripping with her juices, licking it clean before kissing his way back up her body. He wanted to get inside her, _ needed _to get inside her. He wanted to push deep and feel her grip him tight, to lose himself in her heat and softness.

His cock was pressed against her, the feel of her almost too much, and he drew his tongue up the length of her pale throat, reaching between her legs and pushing two fingers into her. She was slick and hot, her flesh like velvet, and he pulled out the fingers, spreading her juices along the length of his cock before guiding himself inside her. Belle let out a cry of pleasure, and he groaned aloud as he slid deep. She drew up her knees, wrapping her legs around his back, and he began to move, thrusting hard with slow, circular movements of his hips, the feel of her making stars burst in his vision.

She was stroking his hair back from his face, and raised her head to kiss him, her mouth sweet against his, her tongue pushing in between his lips. Sweat was forming between them, making their skin slippery, their mingled scents filling his head as he thrust into her. She felt incredible, soft and wet, her flesh gripping him as he moved, tugging at him. He knew he wasn’t going to last, and he ground against her, trying to create more friction, to give her as much pleasure as he could. She let her head roll back with a gasp, eyes closed, lifting her hips a little to let him push deeper, and he groaned as he felt his climax nearing, rising up through him, a raging torrent of bliss waiting to sweep him away.

He came hard, his cock pulsing and spurting, a hoarse cry tearing his throat, and Belle joined in his cries, pumping her hips, her flesh clenching around him as she followed him over the edge. Stars burst behind his eyes, a myriad of coloured lights stealing his sight, and his thrusts became quick and shallow as her flesh tugged at him, pulling every drop from him and drawing it deep.

He began to slow, pushing up on his hands as he drew to a stop, his head hanging. There was only the sound of their ragged breathing, the feel of her hands in his hair, and her wet flesh surrounding him. He was beginning to shrink inside her, and he took a deep, shuddering breath and pulled out, rolling to the side and pulling her into his arms. Belle slid a hand around his waist, laying her head against his chest, and they lay in silence as their breathing returned to normal.

He was aware of the room being cold, the skin of his back and buttocks growing chilled as they lay naked, but she was warm in his arms, a thin layer of perspiration between them, her cheeks flushed and her eyes closed. For a moment he wondered if she was sleeping, but then her eyelids fluttered and she glanced up at him, a slow smile curving her lips.

“That was beautiful,” she said softly.

He nodded wordlessly, and her smile widened.

“How long will we have to wait?” she asked.

“What for?”

“Until you’re ready,” she said. “To go again, I mean.”

“Oh.” He blinked at her. “You want to go again?”

“Don’t you?”

He stared at her, and her smile grew wicked, her eyes gleaming.

“God, yes!” he whispered, and kissed her, pushing her onto her back.

* * *

The morning was brighter than it had any right to be, and the coffee he had brewed was doing nothing but leave a sour taste in his mouth. Rush swigged at the flask in his hand as though it were nectar, the bitter brew spreading over his tongue as he waited for the usual caffeine-induced buzz. Perhaps it would finally clear the throbbing headache he had woken up with. A brief glance in the mirror before he left the apartment had made him scowl; he looked like what he was: a middle-aged man who smoked too much, drank too much, didn’t eat enough and had spent most of the night awake. He needed to shave, too, but he couldn’t face it in his current fragile state. His own fault for downing whisky on an empty stomach and getting very little sleep, but in his defence he certainly hadn’t planned to spend most of the night fucking a complete stranger.

He ran a hand over his face, feeling the rasp of stubble and scowling to himself as he took another swig of coffee. Waking up alone shouldn’t have been a surprise; he’d grown used to it over the past year, but something had made him think she would stay. He wasn't sure if it would have been a good idea for her to do so, but he felt better for having met her, hangover notwithstanding, and a part of him wanted to tell her. It might have been nice to at least bring her a cup of coffee in bed and ask about her plans for the day. He didn’t even have her number, although he wasn’t sure what he’d say even if he called her. Only the scent of her pleasure on his fingers when he woke had convinced him that he hadn’t dreamed the whole encounter. That, and the note scribbled on one of the little notebooks he kept on the nightstand in case of insomnia. _ I hope I helped you as much as you helped me. Thank you x. _

Rush hunched his shoulders against the wind, turning a corner and relaxing a little as a stand of trees gave a little shelter. He could see his destination in the distance, a series of two and three-storey buildings with a large recreation area outside. A sign proclaimed it to be _ Misthaven High School_, and Rush drank the last of his coffee as he headed for the entrance, the occasional student running past him, clearly late for the first class of the day. Mal had told him to come in for eight-thirty, and his first class was not due until ten-thirty. With any luck the first day of term wouldn’t be too taxing. 

He found his way to the Principal’s office with the help of the janitor, and Mallory Drake looked up from her desk, a wide smile spreading across her face as she recognised him. They had met when she had briefly dated a college roommate of his, and had been friends ever since, despite being about as different as it was possible for two people to be. She was as immaculate a ever, blonde hair teased into a roll at the back of her head and her full lips painted red. Setting down her pen, she stood up to look him over, a fitted grey dress just skimming her slim figure.

“What the hell did you get up to last night?” she said bluntly. “You look like shit.”

“Nice to see you too, Mal,” he grumbled, and held up his flask. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any coffee?”

“Teachers’ lounge,” she said. “Let me take you there, we always keep a pot going. Nectar of the gods. Remember those all-nighters we pulled in college?”

“Vividly,” he remarked. “How’s the life of a school Principal? Everything you hoped?”

“Way too much paperwork,” she said. “But I’m enjoying it. Come on, let’s refill that flask. I’m assuming it’s coffee, not whisky.”

“That was last night,” he said, rubbing at his temple, and she chuckled, sashaying past him and back out into the corridor.

“How’s Regina?” he asked, as he followed her.

“She’s decided that she wants to run for the Senate,” said Mal, over her shoulder. “So at the moment it’s pretty much seven days a week of schmoozing. Rather her than me, but she’s in her element.”

“Well, tell her I wish her all the best.”

“Of course. You should come over for dinner. Maybe next Friday night?”

“I’ll be there.”

She pushed open a set of double doors, and gestured to the nearest door. A sign reading _ Teachers’ Lounge _ was screwed onto it, and Mal opened the door, revealing a somewhat stuffy room with squashy chairs, a coffee table holding an untidy pile of magazines, and a kitchenette. The scent of fresh coffee wafted over Rush, and he hurriedly unscrewed the flask, grasping the pot from the hotplate and pouring most of it in. Mal watched him, looking amused.

“God, you’re like a junkie getting his next fix,” she said. “Is your hangover _ that bad_?”

“I guess it’s all relative,” he said. “I’ve certainly had worse, but right now I feel as though I’ve been beaten up.”

“Just so you know, whoever takes the last of the coffee has to make a fresh pot,” she says. “There’s creamer, but I’m guessing you still take it black.”

“Of course.”

“We have donuts every Friday,” she added. “There are cookies in that tin if you want one. Without caffeine and sugar this place would implode, I think.”

“The university’s exactly the same,” he remarked.

“Academics, huh?”

Rush grinned, screwing the lid back on his flask.

“Thanks again for agreeing to help me out, you’re a lifesaver,” she said. “Getting decent teachers is hard enough as it is, but anything in the mathematics and science line is almost impossible, especially last minute like this. If they don’t start funding us properly I don’t know what the hell the next generation of kids is gonna end up learning.”

“It’s not like I’m doing it for free,” he said. “Besides, I thought it would do me good to take a break from the university. I think - honestly, I think I was getting close to a fucking meltdown.”

She turned to face him, lips pursing.

“You sure you’re gonna be okay?” she said. “Your predecessor is currently in intensive therapy, and I don’t want you ending up there too.”

“I’m fine,” he said. “Change of scene, change of work. It’ll do me good.”

She put her head to the side, looking him over.

“I could probably get someone to cover the Grade 10s if you need a little more time to settle in.”

Rush shook his head.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Did you manage to find a space for me?”

She chuckled.

“You and your whiteboards. Yes, I found you a cubbyhole. Small storage room off the library. I had the janitor clear out the boxes of printer paper.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll warn you, it’s cramped and windowless.”

“It’ll do.”

“Great, I’ll take you there now, if you like.”

“What about my timetable?”

“In my office. You have the seniors before lunch. Did you have time to go through the curriculum and Hyde’s lesson plan?”

“I did. I’ll mostly follow it, but there are a few things I thought I might change up.”

“Great. Let’s go.”

* * *

Ten thirty arrived all too quickly, and Rush hurried along the corridor to room 2.19, leather satchel stuffed with a sheaf of paperwork that Mal had given him, the flask of coffee already half-empty. He had spent too long chatting over old times, and the bell to signal the end of one class and the beginning of the next had surprised them both. His classroom, when he reached it, was already filled with the senior class talking and laughing amongst themselves, and he slammed the door behind him, striding to the front as the chatter died.

“I’m Dr Rush,” he announced, as he rummaged through his bag for the list of students Mal had given him. “As I understand it, your usual teacher Mr Hyde is taking an extended leave of absence, so you’ve got me for the duration. Ground rules: I expect you to listen and pay attention, I expect you to do the homework, I expect you to ask questions. If you don’t understand something, I expect you to tell me, because I’m happy to go over things as many times as it takes, but I’m not a bloody mind-reader, are we clear?”

There was a chorus of murmurs which Rush took for agreement.

“Good,” he said, withdrawing the completed register with a flourish. “Now, let me just run through this so I know can get some idea of who you all are, and then we can get on with the—”

He cut off as he turned to face the class. There in the front row, right in front of his desk, mouth open and blue eyes about as wide as they could go, was Belle. She was wearing a white shirt that clung to her curves, a coral pink chiffon scarf tied around her neck, hiding the spot where he was pretty sure he’d given her a hickey. And she was facing him, not off to the side where a teaching assistant would be. Sitting there facing the board, books to the left of her, pencils all ready to take notes. Belle was a student. Belle was a _ high school _ student. _ Shit. Shitshitshit fucking bollocks! What, you spend half the night eating her out and don’t think to ask her fucking age? What the hell is wrong with you, you _ moron_! _

She was staring at him in shocked silence, a blush rising in her smooth cheeks, and he snapped his mouth shut, desperately trying to wrench his mind back from the bedroom of his apartment and into the classroom.

“Uh - we can get on with - with the lesson,” he said lamely. “Right. Fuck.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Lonely](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21806488) by [Emospritelet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emospritelet/pseuds/Emospritelet)


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